Epilogue
CONSTANCE
It’s been a year since Morgan saved me. Literally and figuratively. Toys litter the floor while Chance plays with them, and we don’t worry until it’s time to clean up. Weekends have become filled with pancake breakfasts and family outings.
It’s the thing that builds memories and happiness that you didn’t realize you were missing until you have it. Some mornings, I pause in the doorway between the kitchen and the hall, coffee warming my palms, and just breathe it in.
When I step into the living room, Chance is sprawled out on the floor, coloring with such intensity that his tongue sticks out in concentration.
The dog…his dog, because apparently the universe and Morgan decided he deserved one, snores at his feet.
Sunlight stretches across the rug, and the windows are open because Chance insists the breeze helps his “ideas.”
“Mom,” he announces, holding up a page. “This is our house, but with dragons.”
I kneel beside him, placing my hand on his back as I admire his work. “That’s very realistic.”
“They protect us.” His voice is serious.
My chest tightens, not with fear anymore, but with gratitude.
Chance is thriving in ways that, once upon a time, I only dared to hope for. His therapies continue, and he’s flourishing. He even graduated from physical therapy. I wasn’t the only one crying that day; so was Mrs. Brenda.
He’s grown so much over the past year, and I know that Morgan is a huge part of that. He helps cultivate Chance’s imagination. Chance’s world is filled with laughter, friends, routine, and a backyard he insists is perfect for adventures. He races through the halls like he owns the place.
Because, in a way, he does.
So do I.
We live together now, not in secrecy or half-steps, but openly. I still work as his assistant, still run his schedule, but no one whispers anymore. There’s no CFO. No pretending I don’t belong where I stand.
I’m no longer invisible.
That’s why it feels right that it happens on an ordinary afternoon like today. And his home office is the perfect place for it to happen.
He’s seated at his desk, papers in hand, as he carefully reads the documents. I give a quiet knock before stepping inside, shutting the door behind me.
He looks up, already reading my face like he does every time I enter. If I’m ever frowning, he’s ready to tear the world down to make me smile again.
“There was an issue in the mailroom,” I say, keeping my voice perfectly level, as I hold the manilla envelope in my hand.
His expression sharpens instantly. “What kind of issue?”
“I caught the mail guy reading a Black Tier document.” I step closer to his desk, holding the envelope out to him.
He scowls, muttering a curse under his breath as he takes the envelope from me, opening, pulling out the single piece of paper.
The color drains from his face.
He looks at the document again, then at me, then back at the page.
Inside, in stark black text, are the words:
Congratulations. You’re going to be a daddy.
He swallows. “You’re serious?”
I nod, suddenly breathless despite practicing this moment a dozen times. “Are you mad?”
“No,” he says immediately, pushing back from the desk and standing. His voice is rough, stunned. “I’m fucking elated.”
He rounds the desk in two strides, hands framing my face as he kisses me. When he pulls away, he drops to the floor, placing his hands on my belly and kisses it.
At this moment, the world is perfect, and for the first time in my life, I don’t feel like I’m bracing for what comes next.
I’m home.